


It's Broken

by allourheroes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha knows he's not Jensen. Dean just wants to know what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Set in "The French Mistake" universe and episode (sort of). Which also means (I know I say it every time) that I see Cockles as canon there.

It was something about the way he moved. It wasn’t right. Misha knew it immediately. Jensen didn’t look at him with such disdain. In fact, Jensen barely looked at him at all when they weren’t filming. Not even when they fucked.

This not-Jensen though, he stared. He seemed to take in every aspect of Misha and disapprove of it. It only fascinated Misha more.

For this one day, he would purposely bump into him as he walked around the lot, brushing past a shoulder or a thigh. Not-Jensen seemed to take note each time. Finally, the guy approached him.

“What’s your problem?” Gruffer than Jensen, more to the point.

“You’re the one who keeps staring,” Misha retorted, eyeing him.

Not-Jensen shrugged, “You’re…” He sounded frustrated.

“What?” Misha was genuinely curious.

“Not him,” the stranger murmured, eyes downcast as he spoke, but flittering upwards—his gaze taking in Misha’s posture, the ever-so-slight clenching of his fists.

Misha smirked at that, amused by such an appropriate thought, “Neither are you.” He gestured to the man before him, “So, who are you?”

“I’m Dean.”

“Then who should I be?” He noted a hint of sadness in the other man. “You—you thought I was Castiel earlier.” He burst into a fit of laughter, hands on his thighs supporting him, bringing one up to clutch his chest and loosen his tie.

Dean was not amused. “You look like him, but not,” he tried to explain through Misha’s continued outburst, it only served to make the man laugh harder.

Misha gripped him by the shoulders, face masked in sudden seriousness, though there were tears in his eyes, “Makes perfect sense. Someone must have slipped something in my chai this morning.”

This led to only more frustration for Dean before he came to a realization, “Hold on. You knew I wasn’t that Jensen douchebag. And I hope you’re not on something, ‘cause you’re the only one here whose head isn’t so stuck up his ass to know I’m not fake me.”

One of the other man’s hands came up to his chin in thought, “Fake you…huh.” He nodded at Dean finally. “If you are, in fact, real you who isn’t really real, I could use you.”

“What?” The Winchester’s face scrunched up and his head swiveled around in search of witnesses should this start to get even weirder.

“Yes!” Misha shook him in excitement. “You can give me all the details and maybe they’ll see how clearly amazing I am.”

“So, like…” Dean was slightly calmed by that, yet he was still unsure that he was in the clear—meaning not going to get molested or murdered by an actor—“you want to know the behind the scenes stuff?” He smiled at what he seemed to think was clever wording.

“Come to my trailer, I’m going to take notes.” His eyes flitted around as if a million ideas were passing through his brain. Despite his slight unease, Dean went with him, figuring that he could probably manage to steal a few scripts and get a hint as to why everything was so wacko back home (not because he wanted to know his own future, of course not, that wouldn’t be fair or something).

They were in this Misha guy’s trailer now and Dean was doing his best not to look suspicious as his fingers flipped through any papers he saw laying around—most of which, he was finding out, were creepy fanmail. He imagined thousands of Becky’s out there and shuddered.

Misha’s trench coat was crumpled up on the coffee table. Seeing him in just the suit reminded Dean of Jimmy Novak. He wondered if that guy was still in there. Probably not.

The overzealous actor quickly pushed Dean down onto the couch—pen in his mouth as he did—and sat on the coffee table across from a fictional character. A very buff fictional character with one of the prettiest faces he’d ever seen. He had an unfair advantage, having seen that body naked—not to mention having fucked it more than a few times. He shook the thought from his head and took up a notepad that had most definitely been taken from a hotel, pulling the pen from his lips and watching Dean at the ready.

“Uh…” The hunter shifted into cushions. “How ‘bout you ask me and I get to ask you?”

“Because that would be cheating,” Misha answered calmly. “Now, have you ever had inappropriate thoughts about your brother?”

Dean sputtered, “W-what?” Misha took something down in his notes. “Hey, that would be— that’s just— Why?” he finished lamely.

“I think I know everything I need to there. Now what about Castiel?”

“What about him?”

Misha looked at him pensively, narrowing his eyes in slight annoyment. “Don’t play dumb, despite how well it suits you.” Dean wanted to be pissed off, but it was hard when he was finally seeing a Cas expression on his companion.

“Cas is my friend. Like a brother to me.”

“And we know how you feel about brothers.” Misha wrote something else down.

“I’m not into Sam, okay? Okay.” He slouched into the sofa. “Do we defeat Raphael?”

“Can’t tell you. I mean, I started the season knowing Castiel would die, which you’d think meant some big showdown with Raphael.” He noted Dean’s worry and continued before the Winchester could speak. “I don’t think he actually does though.”

Dean was sitting forward now, listening intently. “The fuck does that mean?” He grabbed the guy’s collar.

Hands came up in surrender, still holding pen and paper, “Hey, who knows at this point?”

The hunter loosened his grip, agitated. Worried. He stubbornly continued on, speaking slowly, “What’s going to happen to Cas?”

“Why?” Misha was sympathetic and it made Dean angrier. “What does he mean to you?” “I told you already. He’s my friend,” he gritted out. “What happens?” His hands were curled into tight fists on his thighs, back rigid and eyes filled with so much anger, and fear, and sadness. Such a profound melancholy brought on by losing so much.

Misha really felt for him and put the notepad down beside him, placing thd pen on top of it, although it rolled off the paper, then the table, and onto the floor. He pushed himself off of the table and onto one knee before the couch.

He cupped Dean’s face in his hands, surprised that he hadn’t pulled away. “Hey, hey,” he whispered and a tear was sliding down the other man’s cheek, Misha’s thumb moved to wipe it away. His face so close to Dean’s. He couldn’t continue with the careless facade. “I know how much you’ve lost. I really shouldn’t say anything else, but…” He sighed and pressed his cheek to Dean’s, hand sliding down to grip his companion’s shoulder comfortingly, lips to his ear, “If you want to fix it, you need to fucking tell him. He needs to know how much he means to you.” He pulled his head back, facing Dean again, “Honestly, you need to stop treating him like shit.” He didn’t mention the secret-keeping, he knew it would come out. Hell, he was pretty sure if Dean actually talked to his angel, he could get it out of him now. Fix things. Dean seemed to nod ever-so-slightly. His green eyes staring into blue. “Oh, Dean…”

Misha did something stupid. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the Winchester’s softly. It seemed the natural thing to do, although he and Jensen rarely shared this kind of tenderness. He didn’t expect the desperation it was met with. Dean pulled him up onto his lap, straddling him. He deepened it, hands roaming Misha’s waist, tongue seeking the warmth of his companion’s mouth. Needy and forceful, gripping Misha to him, afraid of letting go.

Misha managed to pull his lips from Dean’s. “I’m not him, Dean.” He rested his forehead down against the other man’s. “But…don’t believe Cas when he tells you it’s not broken. It is. And you’re the only one who can fix it. Please, fix it.”

“How will I know what to do?” He was crying fully now, still holding Misha to him. The actor wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders.

“You stopped the apocalypse. You can do anything.” He smiled a real smile, no matter how much sadness it contained, and kissed Dean again, gently. “You’re making it up as you go.”


End file.
